This review, written by George Alkema, is one of our series of reviews of chapters of David W. Hall & Marvin Padgett, Calvin and Culture: Exploring a Worldview (P&R, 2010). We welcome your engagement and responses.
That Calvin was drawn to Clio, the muse of history, was betrayed by a matched pair of intellectual Freudian slips tucked away in his commentaries: History, he taught, is “the teacher of life” and even the “mistress of life.” Editors Hall and Padgett note these descriptions in the book’s introduction, but Darryl G. Hart, visiting professor of church history at Westminster Seminary in California and historical contributor to the volume Calvin and Culture, will have none of it. Calvinist historians, he contends, are not equipped by their faith to understand the final meaning of historical developments. He in fact implies that their Christian viewpoint may be an impediment to understanding the significance of historical events. Reformed scholars, says Hart, need “epistemological humility,” by which he means a distinct reticence in interpreting history. (Hart’s reference to 1929 highlights two influential events of that year, the stock market crash and the reorganization of Princeton seminary, which would lead to the establishment of Westminster Seminary.)
Professor Hart rests his thesis on Calvin’s concept of divine providence, by which a good God rules sovereignly over all that occurs in history and in the lives of his children. Nevertheless, in spite of our belief in divine direction and control, events appear to us mortals, says Calvin, as “fortuitous.” That “chance” quality of events is enormously significant. As Calvin points out, Moses wrote that the secret things belong to God (Deuteronomy 29:29) and not to us. We do know that all things will work to the consummation of the divine plan, but we can’t penetrate the manner of its working out. For his use of the doctrine of providence and its implications, Calvin was dependent on Augustine, who was well-respected for his philosophy of history as set out in The City of God. Not a bad ally to have, especially when intellectual frustration is implied.
Christian scholars, then, Hart teaches, don’t possess a key to understanding the significance of specific events, and can’t know how these contribute to the advancement of God’s kingdom. They are at times tempted, however, to be over-confident, because Scripture reveals the aim of history, the middle of history, and history’s end. Hart provides examples of recent and contemporary Christian (and Calvinist) historians who have practiced their craft in a manner that for him crosses the line into stating too much and making claims that are really unsustainable. Ronald Wells, for instance, wrote some nasty prose about the humanism of the Enlightenment and its implications for the subsequent history of the west. [See Ronald Wells, History Through the Eyes of Faith (Harper, 1989) and Ronald Wells, ed., History and the Christian Historian (Eerdmans, 1998).] He in fact declared that the Enlightenment led mankind down a blind alley of “moral and spiritual blackness.” Hart terms this sort of pronouncement “moral judgment,” and as such inadmissible. Indulging in it, he believes, can derail the historian’s purpose and blind her to the “variety, complexity, and mystery of the past” (p. 4). It violates the interpretive humility and the intellectual modesty that, in his view, Calvin’s doctrine of providence imposes on the historian.
Thus Hart has put Calvin into the traces of a decidedly minimalist cart. Calvinist historians must accept the limits of their competence and refrain from kicking against the goads. One may well question, however, whether this is really the emphasis we need. After all, are we known for extravagant claims and wild-eyed enthusiasms? Hardly, I would say. What is needed, rather, is a spirit of encouragement, so that as Christian historians we work with robust analysis and discernment, and with a keen understanding of the significance that historical ideas, events, and movements naturally contain. Our task is to establish connections between our faith and historical events. Let’s take as an example (more or less arbitrarily chosen) the Battle of the Boyne of 1690. This battle saw the defeat of James II and of absolutism in England: The victorious William III was willing to sign the Bill of Rights which de facto initiated limited monarchy and provided for the growth of parliamentary institutions. Are we not obligated to notice God’s providential guidance in such events?
The calling of Christian historians requires them also to defend the faith from the vicious and often faddish calumnies of secular historians bent on defaming Christianity with false representations of past events. For this and for their interpretative tasks they have the necessary tools, for Scripture affords us wisdom in the estimation of humankind and its deeds. History, “the mistress of life,” is a great teacher when her story is told with the discernment that biblical insight can provide. A pity that Daryl G. Hart does not see this.
George Alkema is head of the History Department of Guido de Brès Christian High School in Hamilton, ON. He holds an M.A. in Ancient and European History from McMaster University (1975).
14 comments:
It appears to me that this is similar to an issue in the sciences as interpreted by Christians. One scientist might argue that you cannot interpret or explain specific observations with reference to God, and another might say that all observations are interpreted and explained by saying God created the world in that way. Both are indeed true in their own way, but the former is a scientific stance, and the latter a theological one. From what Mr. Alkema writes here, it seems that, with respect to history (not science), Hart expresses something like the former notion, and that Alkema prefers the latter. But is there not a problem here as well? If we acknowledge God’s providence in the rescue of Europe from the Nazis, then we must also acknowledge God’s providence in the annihilation of millions of Jews. This kind of acknowledgment is necessary for theological reflection, but does it advance historical reflection? Not having read Hart myself, I doubt that Hart would say Christian historians cannot acknowledge the ultimate significance of historical events in terms of God’s sovereignty, providence, and eschatology. Can anyone shed some light on this matter?
Arnold Sikkema
Langley, BC
Thanks for a stimulating and well-presented review.
While I haven't read this particular chapter, I have read some of Hart's other work in the past, and--among several issues--one of his concerns about too much providentialist language from Calvinist historians is rigor. It's easy to make grand statements about the moral meaning of, say, the founding of the US. But that meaning shifts pretty drastically depending on whether you are speaking as an American, Canadian, or French historian. The cheer of rebellion as the victory of God (as some American Calvinists, such as Gary DeMar, have said) hardly works from the angle of British Calvinists.
Considering rigor, perhaps we can look at this chapter. Hart judges that Calvinist historians have told histories with overly judgmental tongues. Our reviewer thinks not. Neither give examples or counter-examples. If I were reading this with overly judgmental lenses, perhaps I might wonder who is slandering whom. Is Hart misrepresenting Calvinist historians? Or is our reviewer misrepresenting Hart? The reader only has a pair of conflicting judgments to consider, and is given no evidence with which to think.
Having read some of Hart's previous work, let me suggest two of his targets, as fodder with which think about providentialism in history more generally. The first is the sort of American puritan group, which chose (and still chooses) Jonathan Edwards as its icon. That this group was thoroughly providentialist in the way it wrote history, at least to the Civil War, is absolutely undisputed by historians (see Mark Noll's America's God, or work by Gordon Wood, for the tip of the iceberg). Modern puritan followers in the US tend to adopt similar language (just check out Puritan messageboards online). I suspect that the second of Hart's targets, and the one more interesting to readers of this blog, is broadly connected to "Neocalvinism", especially the followers of Abraham Kuyper. Hart worries that the "every square inch" philosophy in principle brings together church and state so closely that both end up hurt. Instead, he wants to point out that "real" Calvinism leaves space for political (hi)stories that are not forced to fit an antithesis. Antitheses can be hard to divine with our mortal, noetically fallen eyes.
In other words, in judging nations, Hart doesn't want Calvinist historians to do something like Groen van Prinsterer did with the French Revolution, which was to trace its every connection as an insidious evil, the dark side of Kuyper's antithesis. (Wasn't that Francis Sheaffer's version of history too? Perhaps another Calvinist "historian"?) In that case, France's eighteenth-century connections to the US would make the latter suspect too . . .
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Now consider the reviewer's example. Hart would wonder how Christians can say that events “naturally” contain spiritual significance. Surely the kind of providential significance here is not visible with natural eyes? If so, then every pair of eyes, not just Christian ones, would see that significance! Moreover, the reviewer's allusion to James II's defeat should be fascinating to Hart. He'd accept that God providentially allowed that to happen. But can we judge that therefore God wants parliaments, and not monarchies, or that parliaments are more righteous? (If that were the case, why did the Royalists eventually overcome the parliamentarians earlier in the seventeenth century?) Hart accepts that God governs all history. He doesn't accept that we get to pass out the white and the black hats very often. Well, maybe sometimes---at this point in the argument someone usually pulls the “Hitler card” (no one wants to affirm anything he did), a rhetorical conversation-stopper.
I'm not convinced that judgments are all bad. As private citizens, we all make them, as a basis for action in this life. As Christians in democratic societies, we judge our rulers every time we go to the election booth. But as Christian historians? As historians we're trained to think hard about history. That's not the same thing as being trained to think hard about what God thinks in directing history. Certainly I would worry if we were to teach our students to make providential judgments before we have taught them how to think critically about evidence (or, which is worse, before having carefully sifted the evidence ourselves). I judge that over-hasty.
On the flip-side, both historians I referenced earlier (Noll and Wood) would identify themselves as broadly Calvinist. Hart knows them well. His rhetoric about present-day Calvinist historians being so providentialist is probably overblown. I'm saying that one of Hart's concerns is rigor, not that he's rigorous.
Richard Oosterhoff
Michiana Covenant PCA, South Bend
I appreciate George’s willingness to tackle this difficult, much-debated, and controversial issue. I tend to agree with his conclusion, recognizing that, as he himself admitted, space restrictions made it impossible for him to insert every possible nuance and qualification. But that’s what the discussion is for. I join it by suggesting the following in response to some of Arnold’s and Richard’s comments.
Hart distinguishes between historical explanation (i.e., the search for proximate causes) and the assignment of meaning. (As to the latter, he does not always make clear whether he refers to proximate or ultimate meaning, which makes the discussion rather difficult.) In reply to Arnold, I want to point out that Christian historians worth their salt follow a rigorous “scientific” methodology. This means that, like their unbelieving colleagues, they try to determine causes and effects without reference to the supernatural. Because they believe in God’s providence, there is indeed the temptation to try to explain occurrences from what I will call “God’s point of view.” As Richard shows, that has happened far too often in the past. It still happens today. Think of the American televangelist who explained the Haitian earthquake as God’s punishment on Haitian voodooism. Similarly, the holocaust has been justified with reference to Israel’s rejection of Christ. Such derailments serve as a warning to anyone who thinks he or she can understand divine providence and vindicate the ways of God to man.
But it does not follow that we aren’t to assign proximate meanings to what happens. Hart seems to object to this, at least in some instances. For example, as George writes he denies a historian’s right to trace the negative effects of the Enlightenment. One can disagree with that historian’s negative evaluation and hold to the opposite opinion, which is indeed more common, but aren’t the two positions equally subjective in that they are influenced by one’s Christian or non-Christian “religious” stance? And wouldn’t history become painfully dull (and its study virtually useless) if no attempts were made to assign meanings – by both Christians and non-Christians? Disagreements can be fruitful: Iron sharpens iron.
In any case, attempting to see God’s hand in history does not necessarily prevent the historian from carefully collecting and sifting every possible bit of evidence. Having done this collecting and evaluating, he or she proceeds to assign meaning to an event by, for example, drawing attention to the instruction we receive by studying it. A careful investigation of the causes and effects of the Enlightenment, of the English Glorious Revolution and the Battle of the Boyne, of the rise of Nazism and all it entailed, and of other historical events, ought to teach us at the very least a modicum of wisdom. After all, as in our own lives so in the larger scheme of things, history tends to repeat itself particularly for those who refuse to study it. But I agree, God’s providential care is ultimately a matter of faith, rather than sight. As church historian L. Praamsma (1910-1984) put it, “He who wants to get hold of it by grasping it with his hands misses it” – and yet, “he who ignores it loses what is essential.” (From Praamsma’s The Church in the Twentieth Century, Paideia Press, 1981. I have lost the page reference.)
There are other issues that ask for discussion – such as Hart’s apparent rejection, mentioned by Richard, of Kuyper’s “every square inch” philosophy (on the grounds that it brings church and state too close together). But perhaps someone else will write about that.
F.G. Oosterhoff
Hamilton, ON
Richard Oosterhoff commented on Dr. Hart's alleged fear of Kuyper's "every square inch" motto:
"Hart worries that the 'every square inch' philosophy in principle brings together church and state so closely that both end up hurt. Instead, he wants to point out that 'real' Calvinism leaves space for political (hi)stories that are not forced to fit an antithesis. Antitheses can be hard to divine with our mortal, noetically fallen eyes."
Although it would be helpful to have a reference on this, my study of Dr. Hart's views suggests that he rejects any notion of antithesis in the public square or civil realm or temporal kingdom. In fact, Dr. Hart's position is that commonality prevails beyond the institutional church, so much so that notions of distinctively Christian activities and organizations laboring beyond the institutional church are delusional.
In connection with the "providential argument," although it is true that people easily misidentify "God's finger" in history, the alternative cannot be agnosticism regarding God's purposes in history. Although people easily misplace the antithesis in public square issues, this fact does not negate the existence of the antithesis in the public square. In both cases, humility is the order of the day.
Back to Dr. Hart for a moment. The only antithesis that I recognize in his views is the one between the institutional church and the world. But here we face another danger, namely, coordinating the antithesis between faith and unbelief (think Groen van Prinsterer) with church (all faith) and world (all unbelief). But this can easily ignore the mixture present in both church (hypocrites) and world (God-glorifying works of obedience).
The "every square inch" philosophy entails or permits the blending of church and world, it is alleged. But does not a "no square inch" version of religious secularism permit the isolation of religion from life?
In other words, the antidote to alleged neo-Calvinist worldlifying of the church is not religious secularism, but cultivating a consistent culture of holiness outward from the institutional church into public society.
I'm not clear about the meaning of the last two sentences cited above. If they are true, does this permit and/or require an agnostic interpretation of history? Do not redemption and special revelation mitigate to any extent whatsoever the noetic effects of the Fall? In other words, is "Christian historiography" a possibility, or a delusion?
Nelson D. Kloosterman
St. John, IN
Dr. Kloosterman,
It'd be nice to know the answer to your question ("is 'Christian historiography' a possibility, or a delusion?"). In my limited experience, the little bit of sanctification one might see in this life does not give
a measurable bit of extra analytic talent. Christians who think they are smarter BECAUSE they are Christian seem even worse off. And when I see a bit of history written using special revelation as a standard,
usually a professional theologian wrote it. I would judge it to be theological, not historical, thinking. The one noetic difference that I see is direction (something Al Wolters deals with very nicely in Creation Regained; Michael Goheen and Craig Bartholomew also use this language to great effect in their writings on worldview, including Living at the Crossroads, published by Baker). Epistemically, Christians have no different abilities than nonChristians. But their goals are not to be idolatrous. And that will mean--even without some epistemic or
revelational extra knowledge--that they will know and teach different things than they would if they did not believe.
Let me spell that out. It seems like there is an obvious way that one can be a "Christian historian." It's not very dramatic, but perhaps no less profound for all that. The questions and parts of history that interest a Christian historian can be profoundly different from those who have no interest in Christianity. I believe that the questions with which we start deeply affect where we end up. Motivations
determine the path and destination too. In this sense, the history that Hart writes is in tension with his teaching that Christian historians do nothing differently than their colleagues with other worldviews. He writes to serve the church, he writes about Christianity, and he writes with the goal of bettering Christian worship of and witness to the incarnate Word. I wonder if he'd be frustrated if most people would look at his overall writing and suppose that he is--dare I say it--a Christian historian!
I don't have this figured out. But this suggested answer to your question seems fairly concontroversial to me.
Richard Oosterhoff
South Bend, IN
I want to add a few comments to the discussion.
Darryl G. Hart believes, as I learn from George Alkema’s review, that Christian historians are not to assign religious meanings to historical events or to pass moral judgments on what has happened in the past. Hart’s (and George’s) specific example concerned a negative evaluation of the Enlightenment. Hart considered such an evaluation inadmissible.
Although I have not read any of his other works, I understand (especially from Dr. Kloosterman’s comment) that Hart accepts a two-kingdom position in which Christianity is largely restricted to the church. This seems to imply a rejection of Christian politics, Christian science, Christian education, and so on, as well as Christian historiography.
Richard Oosterhoff also questions the possibility of Christian historiography. He does so especially because some Christians have left the impression that, by a careful selection of the “facts,” they can discover the ultimate meaning of history. Often these writers exploit history to advance their specific points of view. This kind of exploitation is of course not restricted to Christians. In 1932 Christian historian Herbert Butterfield drew attention to similar cases in the secular field. He did so in his well-known study The Whig Interpretation of History, wherein he traced the manner in which Whig historians selectively used historical developments to explain and justify the victory of 19th-century British liberalism and progressivism. And many other examples of such abuse of history by non-Christians could be mentioned.
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The abuse of something does not necessarily abolish its legitimate use, however. To return to George’s remarks about the Battle of the Boyne, I agree with Richard that royalists and absolutists, as well as the French rulers and the Roman Catholics of the time, will have evaluated this event and its apparent consequences differently from the victorious party. But that hardly means that (after careful research and an honest, non-selective presentation of the available evidence) one is forbidden to interpret and evaluate historical events. Nor does it mean that one should not to try to determine their significance and adore divine providence – whether the outcome is pleasing to us or not. Someone like me who prefers, generally speaking, the Reformed faith over Roman Catholicism and civic freedoms over absolutism, can only come to a positive evaluation of the outcome of the Battle of the Boyne. Humanly speaking (and I know I have to be tentative – we cannot always prove a direct relationship between events), the Glorious Revolution and the Battle of the Boyne checked the advance of the French King Louis XIV – an absolutist ruler whose aim it was to destroy Protestantism at home and abroad and to make his dynasty supreme in Europe. By his victory the Protestant ruler William III (King of England and Stadholder of the Netherlands) was instrumental in changing the course of European and even world history. Specifically, his victory helped safeguard civic liberties and the survival of Protestantism in the Netherlands, England, and much of continental Europe, and ultimately helped shape the religious and socio-political traditions of much of North America. It is not necessarily a sign of chauvinism or arrogance to consider this as, on the whole, a positive outcome. Nor is there any reason, as far as I can see, to hesitate in admitting this in one’s historical writings and in the classroom.
I do realize the barriers to admitting divine providence in modern historiography. A historian who attempts to do it will be accused of a non-scientific approach, and perhaps rightly so – historical conclusions must be based on historical evidence, not on one’s view of possible supernatural causation. This makes Christian historiography indeed difficult. It does not, however, make it impossible. No one today will deny that a person’s ultimate convictions have a bearing on his or her interpretation of events: We are past the time when we believed in the possibility or even the desirability of absolute objectivity. All interpretation depends on and is enriched by the subjective element in human knowing. And therefore, even if he or she does not speak of divine providence, the Christian historian can and will give another interpretation of historical events than, for example, a Marxist. This of course implies that all historiography, including the Christian kind, must be read critically. But admitting the inevitability of the subjective element in historical interpretation is different from a collapse into postmodernist subjectivism and relativism. I may feel sorry for the defeated party in the English Glorious Revolution, but I will nevertheless give thanks for the outcome. Just as millions of Christians gave thanks when God heard their prayers and destroyed the powers of Nazism.
When Hart is asking Christians to be quiet about their Christian convictions in scholarship and in the public square in general, he asks the impossible. He also ignores the Bible’s message, which is altogether different. The Lord himself told us to give heed to what is happening in the world and by so doing to discern “the signs of the time” (Matt. 16:3). To explain these signs, carefully and humbly, is among the primary tasks of Christian historians, both authors and teachers. At least that is my understanding of the vocation.
F.G. Oosterhoff
Hamilton, ON
Dear Dr. Oosterhoff,
Thanks for the last comment. On reading it, I think you provided an argument and example for precisely what I recommended in my previous post. I feel I must ask for clarification, however, because you mention that I "question the possibility of Christian historiography." I did, but I provided an hypothetical model for how one might work (one I called undramatic but profound, and one which makes Hart--his explicit views notwithstanding--implicitly a Christian historian). That leaves me wondering if you see your own position as different from mine. If so, could you spell out for me how they differ?
I'm not asking to be argumentative; I'd just like to be sure we understand one another. It's nice to celebrate agreement . . .
Richard Oosterhoff
South Bend, IN
Thanks, Richard, for persevering. The problem we are dealing with indeed demands our attention. I will therefore try to answer your question, in the hope that I can shed at least a little bit of light.
Perhaps we should begin by attempting to define our terms. According to me, Christian historiography properly understood is not simply history written by a Christian, or history dealing with a “Christian” subject (for example church history, biographies of well-known Christians such as Martin Luther, Jonathan Edwards, and so on). Atheists and other unbelievers can also write on these topics, but that won’t make them Christian historiographers. The choice of topic, therefore, does not guarantee Christian historiography. (Of course, it may help. Christians, I believe, not infrequently settle for a “Christian” subject because it makes it easier for them to express their religious convictions.) But I believe that historiography is Christian only when the historian’s interpretation is guided by his belief that ultimately it is God who controls human history and gives it meaning, and when that belief becomes evident in his description and evaluation of the events he describes – of their causes, their nature, and their consequences.
Before I go on, a disclaimer is in order. As we have agreed earlier, the above does not at all imply that the historian should try to trace and explain the mysterious ways of divine providence, and certainly not that that he should selectively and triumphantly present historical developments as signs of God’s special favour for his party or country (or as signs of divine punishment of his enemies). Moral judgments in history cannot always be avoided (to use one of many examples, think of the slave trade), but they should be expressed sparingly and humbly. Christian historians have to follow the golden rule that we must do to others as we would others have do to us. There is, however, a difference between attacking one’s opponents as persons and attacking the ideas they propose. (As we have always been told, we must love the sinner though we have to hate the sin.) I therefore still believe that the historian George Alkema referred to was justified in mentioning what he believed, from his Christian point of view and after due research and contemplation, to be negative aspects of the Enlightenment. That type of judgment is part of proper historical interpretation.
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Lastly, there is your question whether as a church historian Dr. Hart writes Christian historiography. Unfortunately I have never read him and I therefore can’t judge. I am more than willing to assume, however, that in his work as a church historian he fits the description of a Christian historiographer that I gave at the end of the first paragraph. (This would again suggest that Christians can’t easily avoid writing Christian historiography even when they believe they should avoid it.) My problem with Dr. Hart is that (as I understand him) he does not really allow this type of historiography; that according to him Christian historians have to keep quiet about their deepest convictions and must not speak of God’s claims and rule and glory, at least not beyond the walls of the church, leaving the public square “neutral.” I think I understand and can sympathize with at least some of his motivations, such as the embarrassing abuse of historiography to magnify one’s own party and country, as well as the abuse of the principle of the antithesis. But can we avoid and eradicate such abominations only by being quiet about God’s works and worldwide government?
The question that needs to be answered is the one Dr. Kloosterman asked: If the “every square inch” philosophy indeed entails the danger of an inadmissible “blending church and world,” do we therefore have to abandon it? And if so, “Does not a ‘no square inch’ version of religious secularism permit the isolation of religion from life?” This is ultimately what we have to come to terms with in connection with Dr. Hart’s views. I personally am convinced that an “isolation of religion from life” so very clearly contradicts the biblical mandate to proclaim the wonders of God’s majesty and mercy, that we may not even consider it. (Which is of course not to say that we can’t learn from Dr. Hart about the errors that have been rampant in certain versions of Christian politics, historiography, and so on.)
I should like to hear your answer to the question whether or not we should confess Christ also in the public square. If we agree we should, the time comes to talk about the “how” of such a confession. I admit that on that point much is still to be learned.
F.G. Oosterhoff
Hamilton, ON
I’ve not read Hart’s books, but only George Alkema’s review of this chapter. I do, however, have some thoughts on the question of historiography and providence.
S Greijdanus in his commentary on Revelation (Openbaring: Kommentar op het Nieuwe Testament pg 206) at Rev 12:16 (Where we read that the earth came to the help of the woman) makes the comment that we can see this in eg: When Charles V and Francis I were in conflict with each other, their warfare made it possible for the Reformation to flourish elsewhere. “Had these enemies in the time of the Reformation, worked together, they would have, perhaps, suppressed the Reformation. Are there horns (powers) that would scatter Judah, God arranges things so that those powers are cast down (SG notes Zechariah 1:18-21).” [my translation.]
But this seems to me to be a bit of a stretch. Would we say that the downfall of Saddam Hussein is providentially good or evil? I had the opportunity to speak to Victor Attalah of the Mid-East Reformed Fellowship before the American invasion under GB II. He said, “It will be the end of peace for the church in Iraq.” Prescient words, those! Tens of thousands of Christians are fleeing Iraq. I heard once that the Japanese were preparing to annihilate the few Christians in their country: planned for August 1945. But Hiroshima and Nagasaki happened. Did the “earth help the woman”, as SG might suggest? Was the unleashing of atomic power as a weapon a good thing for the church? Who is to say?
Cont…
John van Popta
Burlington ON
I’ve written elsewhere:
We can also examine the Bible looking at the history of Israel, the life of the Lord Jesus, and the history of the New Testament church. Taking up the Hebrew printing of the Old Testament, we notice very quickly — well it takes a few months to learn how to read it — but I can tell you that in the Hebrew Old Testament the books are in a different order from the order in the English Bible. It was the Greek translation, the Septuagint that reordered the books. The Old Testament in Hebrew is called TANAKH from the first letters of Torah, Nevi'im, and Kethuv’im. The Law, Prophets, and Writings. In the TANAKH the order of the books is very different.
First we find the Torah - The Law. It consists of the Five Books of Moses. The Prophets run like this. Joshua, Judges, I Samuel, II Samuel, I Kings, II Kings, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, followed by the Twelve Minor prophets. In this listing, the books of Joshua to II Kings are called The Former Prophets and Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel and the Twelve, are called The Latter Prophets. In The Writings you will find Psalms, Proverbs, Job, Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Esther, Daniel, Ezra, Nehemiah, and I Chronicles and II Chronicles.
I point this out because in this arrangement we see something significantly different from the LXX arrangement. We have in our English Old Testament, The Five Books of Moses, then the so called Historical Books followed by the so called Wisdom Books followed by the Prophets. But with the Hebrew arrangement we see much of what we consider to be the Historical Books listed with the Prophets. As we noted, Joshua to 2nd Kings are the Former Prophets. II Kings 17 gives us a clue here. There we can read in most graphic terms why Israel went into exile. We have there, prophetic interpretation of the circumstances of Israel's and Judah's defeat. This chapter, in a sense, is one of the most crucial and significant of the whole of the Old Testament. There we have history from God's point of view; it is history with divine interpretation. This chapter defines, in sharp relief, the prophetic character of the historical narrative in The Former Prophets. There we read of God's acts, followed by God's words explaining those acts. When we understand that the so called Historical Books are actually prophetic books then we can begin to understand why so much of the Books of Kings — 6 chapters — concerns Ahab and Jezebel, among the wickedest royalty in Israel's history, and so little space is given to some of the other kings. These are not history books as such. They are books which God has given to men that they might come to know him. They are God's self revelation. They are prophetic interpretation of his works among his people.
We have the same in the New Testament. Think of John 20:30 where the Apostle says that the Lord Jesus did many other works but these were written that we might believe that Jesus is the Christ the Son of God, and that believing we might have life in his name. The gospels are not biographies, they are not Life of Jesus stories. We have huge gaps in the life of the Lord. Between the time of his birth to about 30 years old we have only one story at age 12. Almost half John's Gospel concentrates on the last 13 days before the Lord's crucifixion. It is not a history book but a prophetic (or better, apostolic) and divinely inspired interpretation of God's mighty acts of redemption.
cont
John van Popta
Burlington ON
I wrote the preceding in a booklet on developing Bible curricula for Christian schools. But I think it helpful here. The prophets and apostles gave history “from God’s point of view.” We are not equipped to do that today. So I think that Hart might have a point in arguing that our historiography needs to be humble. Though I do think that we can make observations about whether an event was good or bad, or what was good and bad about it. (The fall of Mubarak was a good thing; the coming persecution of the Coptic Christians bad.) But I doubt that we can make grand statements on where an event fits the grand narrative of creation, fall, redemption, restoration. That would take the mind of God.
John van Popta
Burlington ON
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